Twelve Days
by Phosphorescent
Summary: Lisbon stared at the wrapped box on her desk and cautiously prodded it with a finger. "It's not a bomb, you know," Jane said.
1. The First Day

_Disclaimer: I still don't own The Mentalist.  
_

___A/N: Because I clearly need another WIP that I have no time to write, right? But this particular plot bunny kept_ nudging me with its figurative nose, and then it started biting_. So I listened to it.  
_

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**Chapter One: The First Day  
**

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_Thursday, December 13, 2012_

Lisbon stared at the wrapped box on her desk and cautiously prodded it with a finger.

"It's not a bomb, you know," Jane said.

Lisbon started.

Apparently Jane had silently slid into her office while she was distracted

"Don't scare me like that!" she snapped. Eyes narrowing in suspicion, she added, "And how do you know what's in it? Did you already open and re-wrap it?"

"No need to be so suspicious, my dear," Jane said. "Although for the record, I'm a tad hurt that you would think that of me."

"Right, hurt," Lisbon snorted in disbelief. "So what? You're able to tell what's in the box from the wrapping paper or something? Maybe from the way the bow is tied?"

"No, although I can guess who gave it to you from that," Jane said calmly.

Lisbon resisted the urge to smack him.

"Enlighten me," she said flatly.

"What, and ruin the mystery? Where's your sense of fun, Teresa?"

"Excuse me for being concerned!" Lisbon snapped. "For all I know, this is one of Red John's tricks. In fact, I'm surprised that you didn't consider that in the first place."

Jane's face abruptly became very serious.

"I caught the fellow who snuck the box in and questioned him. I can assure you that your present has no connection to Red John."

"Questioned him? More like hypnotized," Lisbon muttered, reading the meaning behind his words.

Still… if _Jane_ thought it was OK…

"Fine," Lisbon said. "But if I die from opening this box, I know exactly who I'm going to blame."

Jane spread his hands open in a conciliatory gesture, which she decided to interpret as his agreement.

Carefully peeling the tape off, Lisbon unwrapped and opened the cardboard box. Inside, there was another box, this one bearing the words "Harrington's Pear Tea."

Huh.

She opened the large tea box. There, nestled amidst fragrant tea bags was a 9x19mm pistol cartridge.

Whoever had given this to her knew that she had a Glock 19 as her backup/off-duty weapon. Granted, most LEOs had a 19 even though they weren't CBI-issue, but…

Was this simply a thoughtful gift or was it a veiled threat?

She suddenly noticed a bit of paper that didn't look like the rest of the tea bags. Pulling it out, she unfolded it.

"Merry first day of Christmas," she read slowly. "From your secret admirer."

Jane raised an eyebrow and said, "Obviously I overestimated your admirer's intelligence."

"Excuse me?" Lisbon said.

"It's a common misconception that the twelve days of Christmas lead up to Christmas Day. In actuality, the first day of Christmas is December 25th." Jane said in a lecturing tone. "Obviously, you, as a good Catholic, know that. Your admirer, on the other hand, clearly doesn't. And he didn't bother to educate himself before using the schema to give you gifts, either. As I said, less intelligent than I thought."

"Catholics aren't the only ones who celebrate Christmastide. Some traditions put the first day on the 26th," Lisbon chided gently, turning the slip of paper over to double-check that there was nothing else written on it.

There wasn't.

"No, but you are Catholic," Jane said patiently. "Which one would hope your admirer realizes, considering his otherwise reasonable grasp on your personal tastes."

He wrinkled his nose in the direction of the gun cartridge.

"If my admirer knew me, then he'd know that I prefer coffee," Lisbon pointed out.

"Ah, but then it wouldn't work with the song, now would it?" Jane said with aplomb.

The song… oh…

Jane exited her office whistling the tune cheerfully and Lisbon lowered herself into her seat.

_On the first day of Christmas, someone gave to me… a cartridge in a box of pear tea._


	2. The Second Day

_Disclaimer: I still don't own The Mentalist. Shocking, I know, but true.  
_

_A/N: To those of you whom I couldn't respond personally to: thank you so much for your kind reviews!  
_

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**Chapter Two: The Second Day  
**

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_Friday, December 14, 2012_

Jane was sitting on his couch and sipping a cup of tea. A cup of suspiciously familiar-smelling tea. In fact, was it –

Lisbon took another sniff inconspicuously.

– yes, it _was_. It was a cup of her new pear tea. Jane was drinking a cup of her pear tea without having asked whether he could have any.

(What? It was the principle of the thing.)

"And here I thought you'd given up your thieving ways," Lisbon told him, rounding the corner.

"Good morning, Lisbon," Jane said, entirely unabashed at being caught. "You should try some of this; it's really quite good."

He waved the teacup temptingly in front of her.

Only Jane would be impudent enough to offer her some of her own tea; tea that he'd stolen from her, for that matter.

"Oh, stolen sounds so _harsh_," Jane said, plucking the words right out of her mind. She _hated_ when he did that. "Let's call it liberated, shall we? I _liberated_ your tea because you weren't going to touch it."

"Excuse me?" Lisbon said indignantly.

She hadn't been planning on drinking any of the tea this morning, but that hardly meant that she was never going to try it.

"You know I'm right," Jane told her in a sing-song voice.

Scowling, Lisbon snatched the teacup from where he'd perched it on his knee and gulped the remainder of its contents down.

"Happy?" she asked, handing him back the now-empty cup.

"Ecstatic," he assured her with a bland smile.

Right. She probably should have expected that response.

After unlocking her office door, she opened it and stepped on through. Turning on the lights yielded a surprise of sorts: a red envelope propped up on her desk.

"Jane?" Lisbon called. "Did you see anyone come in here this morning?"

Stepping into her office, he replied, "Does it matter if I did?"

"Considering this envelope wasn't here when I left last night, I should say it does," Lisbon informed him. "We have a potential security breach."

"Teresa, Teresa, Teresa," Jane said with a sigh. "I've been telling you for _years_ that that lock is easily picked."

"And you've been demonstrating it for years too," Lisbon told him, eyes narrowed.

"Yes, well, practical sorts like you always respond best to concrete demonstrations," Jane told her.

Lisbon felt her lips quirk upwards against her will.

"So that's why you've been breaking into my office all this time?" she asked amusedly. "It's all been a selfless attempt to help improve the CBI's security?"

"Of course," Jane assured her in a carefully innocent tone. His eyes, however, were dancing wickedly.

Lisbon snorted feelingly.

"So," she said. "This morning…"

Jane shrugged.

"_Jane_…" Lisbon said.

"Why not just go with the holiday spirit, Teresa?" Jane asked. "Let your little admirer remain anonymous as he so obviously wants to."

"Because – because –" Lisbon sputtered. "– He could be dangerous!"

Jane dismissed her entirely valid concerns with a wave of a hand.

"Now are you going to open your present or will I have to do it for you?" he asked. "I have to admit, I'm a bit curious."

Sighing, Lisbon tore open the envelope. Inside, there was a card with the words 'Merry second day of Christmas from your secret admirer' written on its front. When she opened the card, another card fell out.

"Twenty 'Dove' dollars have been donated in your name to the Dove Peace for Children Foundation," Jane read aloud from over her shoulder. "Well that's nice."

Lisbon was still looking at the inside of the original card, where two smiling turtles were drawn in colored pencil.

"I guess that's where the turtle part of the Turtle Doves comes in," she murmured at last.

Jane raised an eyebrow, looking reluctantly impressed.

"Apparently your secret admirer is artistic," he said.

"Apparently," Lisbon agreed, setting the card back down on her desk with a small frown of concentration.

_On the second day of Christmas, someone gave to me… two turtles and two 'Doves.'_

She had a list of suspects to write up.


	3. The Third Day

_Disclaimer: Between the last chapter and this one, I magically won the rights to The Mentalist… not._

_A/N: Once again, thank you all so much for your kind reviews. And to those of you who celebrate it, Happy Christmas!  
_

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**Chapter Three: The Third Day**

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_Saturday, December 15, 2012_

As per usual, Saturday morning found Teresa Lisbon at the office catching up on paperwork. At the moment, she was working on annual performance reviews for her team members.

So what if there hadn't been a gift waiting for her on her desk when she came in earlier this morning? She wasn't _disappointed_. No, she was relieved. Yes, _relieved_.

(Fine, maybe it had been a little bit… flattering to have a secret admirer. But that was it.)

Determinedly putting these thoughts out of her head, Lisbon returned to writing up Van Pelt's review.

As it so often happened, Lisbon became entirely absorbed in her work, heedless of the passage of time. She didn't enjoy paperwork – did anyone really? – but she was a conscientious team leader; paperwork came with the job. Besides, performance reviews were important and Lisbon took them seriously.

So it came as a surprise when she heard a knock on her office door some time later.

"Come in," she called absently, not looking up from the papers in front of her.

"Er, Agent Lisbon?" an unfamiliar voice said hesitantly.

Lisbon looked up to see a scrawny, pimpled teenage boy holding a brown paper bag.

"Yes, I'm Agent Lisbon," she told the boy reassuringly. "How can I help you?"

"Uh, I have a delivery. For you," the boy said, holding the bag out in her direction.

"OK," Lisbon said in bemusement. "Where are you from, exactly?"

"Les Trois Oiseaux," the boy said in a truly terrible French accent. "The French Bistro on 11th?"

"…right. Of course," Lisbon said, who knew no such thing. "Why are you here again?"

"Someone ordered a meal to be delivered to you?" the boy said, voice rising at the end of the sentence so as to make it a question rather than a statement.

"Who?" Lisbon asked.

"I don't know, I'm just the delivery guy," the boy said with a shrug.

"Right," Lisbon repeated a bit weakly. "Well, er, set it down on my desk." She quickly dug through her purse, fished out a couple of dollar bills, and handed them over to him.

"Thanks!" the boy said, cheerfully accepting the tip. "Happy Holidays, ma'am."

"Happy Holidays," Lisbon said, watching him leave with a thoughtful frown.

Her stomach chose this moment to let out a gurgle.

A quick glance at her clock showed that it was half past one in the afternoon. Huh. And the smells wafting from the bag _did_ smell good…

Before she could question her decision any further, Lisbon reached into the bag and pulled out a cardboard box. Affixed to the box was a card.

Opening the card, she saw the following message: _Did you really think I'd forgotten you? Merry third day of Christmas from your secret admirer._

Huh. Well that was… sweet. Or creepy. She couldn't quite decide which.

(But creepy or not, she couldn't quite stifle her initial feeling of pleasure upon receiving the gift.)

Stomach protesting at her delay, Lisbon opened the cardboard box to find food inside. And what food it was! A whole roasted Cornish hen, golden-brown and smelling of thyme and sage; a mountain of buttery mashed potatoes; thin, curly green beans seasoned with what smelled like lemon and tarragon; and, to top it all off, a thick slice of chocolate cake topped with a rich, shiny ganache and ripe strawberries.

Her mouth watering, Lisbon hurried off to the CBI kitchen to grab silverware and some napkins.

She'd finish her paperwork after eating. This was a meal that demanded her full attention.

_On the third day of Christmas, someone gave to me… Trois Oiseaux hen._


	4. The Fourth Day

_Disclaimer: Hmmm… is my name Bruno Heller? It_ isn't_? Then I guess I must not own The Mentalist._

_A/N: Yes, I'm still alive. Sorry __for taking so long to update! Real life has been a bit mad. But no matter how long I go in between updates, I_ will_ finish this fic. Once again, my apologies for the lateness (and shortness) of this chapter. And many thanks to all of you who have been kind/patient enough to stick with me!_

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**Chapter Four: The Fourth Day**

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_Sunday, December 16, 2012_

_Thwack._

_Thwack._

_Thwack._

Lisbon's feet smacked against the pavement as she ran, shoulders loosening a bit with each stride. Running always felt good, but on days like this one – with its clear skies, brisk air, and warm sun – Lisbon particularly enjoyed it.

When she ran, everything fell away, leaving just her and the ground. And today Lisbon had just beat her old record for how long it took her to complete her usual loop.

Before heading back into apartment building, she took a long sip from her water bottle and stretched her burning muscles.

A quick check in her mailbox revealed the normal pile of junk mail ('You've been pre-approved for a Capital One® Gold Card!' one proclaimed), a bill, and – now _this_ was different – a thick manila envelope.

Even odder was the fact that its return address was that of her office at the CBI.

Once she was inside her apartment, Lisbon dumped the mail and her water bottle on her coffee table and proceeded to examine the manila envelope.

She knew that she hadn't mailed it to herself. So who…?

With a shrug, she grabbed a pair of scissors and opened the envelope, upending its contents onto her coffee table.

Four CD albums cased in plastic slid slickly onto the table with a series of clacks.

Lisbon spread them out and glanced at the titles.

_Mr. Tambourine Man_. _Turn! Turn! Turn!_. _Sweetheart of the Radio_. _The Notorious Byrd Brothers_.

On a sudden hunch, she double-checked the inside of the manila envelope.

Sure enough, there was a slip of paper caught inside.

She fished it out and glanced at it.

"Merry fourth day of Christmas from your secret admirer," she read aloud.

A small smile crept onto her face.

It was terribly cheesy, but –

_On the fourth day of Christmas, someone gave to me… four singing Byrds._


	5. The Fifth Day

_Disclaimer: I still don't own The Mentalist._

_A/N: Thank you all for your patience and your kind words! Hope you enjoy the chapter.__  
_

* * *

**Chapter Five: The Fifth Day**

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_Monday, December 17, 2012_

Another case closed, and this time in record time. They'd only gotten the case a few hours ago, after all.

Cho and Rigsby were dropping the murderer – who wasn't exactly the brightest bulb in the box, considering how little time it had taken them to catch him – off in holding. Jane had chosen to accompany them, presumably because he found the man fun to bait.

"Hey, Boss," Van Pelt said, looking up from her computer screen as Lisbon entered the bullpen. "Package came for you while you were out."

"Thanks," Lisbon said, picking the package up off of her agent's desk.

"Uh, I don't mean to pry," Van Pelt continued hesitantly, curiosity bright in her eyes, "But I couldn't help but notice that the return address listed is your apartment's."

Lisbon checked the package. Sure enough, its return address was that of her apartment.

"Huh," Lisbon said. "So it is."

Van Pelt's inquisitive stare was drilling a hole into her forehead.

Cautiously, Lisbon admitted, "I… seem to have acquired a secret admirer of sorts."

Van Pelt's eyes lit up.

"Any idea who it is?" she asked.

"I have my suspicions," Lisbon replied.

"You don't think it's Carlos from the mailroom, do you?" Van Pelt asked. "Ooo, or maybe Todd from Arson? He's always had a bit of a crush on you."

"What?" Lisbon asked, feeling her cheeks flush against her will. "No he doesn't."

"Please," Van Pelt snorted. "The guy's totally into you."

"Regardless," Lisbon said a bit louder, dismissing Van Pelt's words, "It's not a big deal, so I'd appreciate it if you'd keep it quiet."

"Sure thing, Boss," Van Pelt said.

Once in her office, Lisbon took a pair of scissors to the package and pulled out its contents.

Huh. A bakery box.

As she had expected, the note attached to it read: _Merry fifth day of Christmas from your secret admirer._

She lifted the lid to find five cupcakes resting inside, each covered in a mound of fluffy white frosting and topped with a golden pineapple ring.

The cupcakes looked delicious, but there was no way she'd be able to eat them all by herself.

Fortunately, there happened to be just enough for her to share with the team…

After the rest of the team had returned from dropping the murderer off in holding, Lisbon presented them with the cupcakes.

"What's the occasion?" Cho asked, deadpan.

"No occasion," Lisbon replied with a small shrug. "Just thought you might enjoy a snack while you finish up your paperwork."

"Thanks, Boss," Rigsby exclaimed through a mouthful of cupcake. "Feezarellygud."

Van Pelt gave her a knowing smile as she took a daintier bite of her own cupcake.

"They _are_ good, Boss," she agreed.

And Jane? Jane looked ineffably smug.

Which was a tad suspicious, for all that it was a common event.

"Glad you like them," Lisbon said, addressing the entire team. "I expect your paperwork for the O'Reilly case on my desk within the next hour."

Just as she reentered her office, she heard Jane say, "Ah, but Grace here knows more than she's telling, don't you?"

"Shut up, Jane," Van Pelt said.

Lisbon smiled and bit into her cupcake.

_On the fifth day of Christmas someone gave to me… five pineapple rings._


	6. The Sixth Day

_Disclaimer: Strangely enough, I still don't own The Mentalist._

_A/N: As always, thank you all for taking the time to read and review. Enjoy!__  
_

* * *

**Chapter Six: The Sixth Day**

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_Tuesday, December 18, 2012_

Lisbon entered the CBI that morning with some trepidation. Today was the sixth day, after all – six geese a-laying. And although her admirer had not yet bestowed live wildlife upon her, he or she still had plenty of time to do so. Plenty of opportunities.

Why did the blasted song contain so many birds, anyway?

Oh God. Seven swans a-swimming. (Where would they swim?) Eight maids a-milking. (That meant cows too, didn't it?)

And if her 'admirer' was who she thought he was, he would relish the challenge of getting eight cows and milkmaids into the CBI building.

…She was doomed.

To her relief, no geese – laying or otherwise – were visible when she opened her office door.

There was, however, a box sitting innocently on her desk. Attached to it was the note that she had come to expect: _Merry sixth day of Christmas from your secret admirer._

Lisbon's natural practicality warred with her curiosity; open the box now or leave it as a pick-me-up for later in the day?

She really ought to wait.

…but what if the box contained something perishable? It would be a shame if she accidentally ruined her gift by leaving it out too long.

Yes, opening it now was really the only reasonable course of action.

She firmly told the smirking Jane in her head to shut up.

Lifting the cardboard lid off of the box, Lisbon peered inside. And there, nestled amidst bubble wrap and packing peanuts, was –

A wooden, egg-shaped matryoshka painted like a goose.

Gently prying it open along the fine crack at its middle, she pulled out a second goose matryoshka. Within that goose, she found another goose, and within that one yet another.

By the time she was done, six wooden geese sat on her desk, each different in color and size. The smallest was a gosling, feathers yellow-grey and fluffy.

Smiling a little, Lisbon arranged the geese on top of her file cabinet.

Maybe she was worrying for nothing. Her admirer had yet to give her something that would embarrass her, after all.

_On the sixth day of Christmas, someone gave to me… six goose matryoshkas._


	7. The Seventh Day

_Disclaimer: Call it sad, call it funny/ But it's better than even money/ That I do not own the Mentalist!/ Mentalist! (Or _Guys and Dolls_, for that matter.)_

_A/N: Once again, thanks to everyone who has stuck with this story. I hope that you enjoy the latest chapter! And to those of you who celebrate it, I hope that you had a happy (but not_ too_ happy) St. Patrick's Day.__  
_

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**Chapter Seven: The Seventh Day**

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_Wednesday, December 19, 2012_

When Lisbon had entered her office that morning, she'd thought that she was prepared for anything.

However, as she gazed at the seven bottles of Swan's Neck vodka on her desk, she had to concede that she'd been wrong.

Never once had it occurred to her to be prepared for something like this.

While Lisbon wasn't a teetotaler, she wasn't much of a drinker either. What on earth was she going to do with all of this vodka? She was practically swimming in the stuff!

…right. _Swimming_.

She snorted in amusement.

Lisbon was tucking away the note that had come with the vodka when a knock sounded on her door.

_Sheepdip_. No time to hide the bottles.

"Come in," she called.

"Agent Lisbon," Director Gale Bertram said, striding into the office, "I need to talk to you about the game Saturday, I think that– _holy guacamole_. Do we need to talk?"

Lisbon felt herself coloring as he stared at the vodka bottles clustered on her desk.

"No sir," she said, brain whirring frantically for an excuse for the quantity of alcohol present. "…these are Christmas gifts. For the poker group. I haven't had a chance to wrap them yet, that's all."

Bertram let out an impressed whistle.

"I guess we're paying you more than I realized," he said, picking up a bottle and examining it with an expert eye. "Just one of these beauties goes for forty bucks."

Lisbon tried to hide her bulging eyes, but suspected that she was failing miserably.

"Really?" she said weakly. "I guess I got an even better deal on them than I'd thought."

"Putting those poker skills to work in the real world, eh?" Bertram said, chuckling. "Good for you."

Lisbon gave him a strained, polite smile.

"Is there anything I can help you with, sir?" she asked.

He looked up from his examination of the bottle in surprise.

"What? No, no. I was just in the area, thought I'd to check to make sure you were still joining us on Saturday."

"Wouldn't miss it," Lisbon assured him.

"Good," Bertram said, running his hands absently over the bottle as he spoke.

"You can take your gift early, if you'd like, sir," Lisbon suggested.

"I may just do that," he said. "Thank you. See you Saturday, Lisbon."

"See you Saturday," Lisbon repeated as he exited the office.

The second the door closed behind him, Lisbon let out a sigh of relief and drooped a bit in her chair.

That had been a close call.

Still, at least she knew what she was going to do with the majority of the vodka now. The poker group members would appreciate it.

And as for the remaining bottle?

Well, if her day continued the way it had started, she might need a bit of a drink.

_On the seventh day of Christmas, someone gave to me… seven Swan's Neck vodkas._


	8. The Eighth Day

_Disclaimer: For some strange reason, I thought that once Spring had sprung I would suddenly own the Mentalist. I was wrong._

_A/N: I was originally going to make Lisbon's eighth gift a donation to Heifer International (if you've never heard of the foundation, look it up – it's really cool), but then another idea popped into my head with such force that I had to listen to it. As always, my thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read and/or review this story; it means a lot to me._ _And to those of you who celebrate it, Chag Pesach Sameach!_

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**Chapter Eight: The Eighth Day**

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_Thursday, December 20, 2012_

That afternoon, Lisbon returned from questioning a suspect to find another box in her office. In contrast to the rest of the packages that she had received, however, this one had a return address.

(The fact that the return address was for a "Maiden Creamery" in _Switzerland_ was beside the point.)

There was a _return address_.

At last, Lisbon had a new lead.

She had just taken her scissors out of a drawer when her office door swung open. Unsurprisingly, Jane strolled in, a teacup and saucer in hand. (Anyone else would have knocked first.)

Raising an inquisitive eyebrow, Jane said, "Another gift from your admirer?"

"You know very well it is," Lisbon said without rancor.

Jane shrugged and took a seat on the edge of her desk.

He smelled different for some reason, familiar in a way that she couldn't quite pinpoint. Almost… fruity.

Then it hit her.

"Are you stealing my tea again?" she asked.

"Really, Lisbon," Jane said reproachfully. "Must you throw unwarranted accusations at me all the time? If I were a less secure man, I'd think that you didn't like me."

"You're secure, alright," Lisbon muttered. In a clearer tone, she continued, "And they're not unwarranted if they're _true_."

"Everyone knows that once you leave something in the CBI cupboard, it's fair game," Jane protested. "I hardly _stole_ this tea."

Lisbon rolled her eyes and proceeded to open her package.

"I labeled it, Jane," she pointed out as she peeled off a particularly stubborn bit of tape.

"And Alice from Missing Persons always labels her pies," Jane said. "Your point…?"

Lisbon decided to ignore him.

Inside the package was a slip of paper with the following message typed across it: _Merry eighth day of Christmas from your secret admirer_.

Moving the paper aside, she dug deeper into the box, past the mint green Styrofoam packing peanuts.

Soon enough, her fingers encountered something wrapped in newsprint.

She unwrapped the object from the newsprint, only to discover that it was also encased in a sheer plastic sleeve. And within that sleeve –

Were eight chocolate bars, each stamped in gilt with the words 'Maiden Creamery Milk Bar.'

Her mouth watered a bit just looking at them.

"Good for your little admirer," Jane said approvingly. "He's finally gotten something right."

"Excuse me?" Lisbon sputtered, thoughts of the chocolate temporarily vanishing.

"You'd never buy this for yourself," Jane said, nodding in the direction of the chocolate. "You're more of the Hershey's type, I'd imagine. And when you do splurge on the good stuff, you go for dark chocolate even though you don't like it as much; it's healthier, so it assuages your conscience. You never just indulge."

What? He – he was right, damn him. As usual.

Still…

"What's wrong with Hershey's?" Lisbon asked a bit belligerently.

Hershey's had gotten her through some rough times.

"Did I say there was anything wrong with it?" Jane murmured.

"You implied it," Lisbon said.

"I'm sure Hershey's has its place," Jane sniffed, nose crinkled in distaste, "But it's not really _chocolate_, is it?"

"Um, I'm pretty sure it is," Lisbon told him, vaguely amused.

"No," he said definitively, "it isn't. It's chocolate-scented, wax-covered _chalk_. You, my dear, like it because it reminds you of your early childhood and because it's economical. That doesn't mean it tastes any good."

"I happen to think that it tastes pretty good," Lisbon protested. "I mean, no one would ever call it _gourmet_, but –"

Jane let out a pained sigh.

"Don't even put those two words in the same sentence, please," he said.

Lisbon resisted the urge to roll her eyes yet again. For a man who slept in a seedy, bare motel room – or in the CBI attic, for that matter – Jane had quite the taste for the finer things in life.

"Oh, just – drink your stolen tea and shut up," Lisbon muttered.

Jane smirked but obeyed.

_On the eighth day of Christmas, someone gave to me…eight Maiden Milk Bars._


	9. The Ninth Day

_Disclaimer: I don't own the Mentalist._

_A/N: I am so sorry for the several week wait on this chapter! If you are reading this, thanks for sticking with me. Hopefully – touch wood __– updates will resume their weekly schedule from here on out._

_Additional note: Be aware that my description of the item Lisbon receives in this chapter may not be entirely accurate. Said item does actually exist, but I haven't (and have no desire to) see it._

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**Chapter Nine: The Ninth Day**

* * *

_Friday, December 21, 2012_

All Lisbon could think as she entered her office the next morning was: _Please don't let it be strippers_.

Of course, strippers weren't 'ladies' in the traditional sense, but she had a bad feeling that that might not stop her 'admirer' if he was feeling mischievous. Assuming her admirer was who she thought he was, anyway.

Frustrating as it was, however, she had no proof, just a nebulous hunch. And Lisbon wasn't going to embarrass herself by confronting the person she suspected without solid evidence.

But there was no package on her desk this morning. Which only made her more nervous.

Granted, surprises always made her a little nervous. But no matter what Jane said, that didn't make her a control freak. (And besides, if she _was_ a control freak, it was all his fault. _Someone_ had to be to keep him in line.)

Doing her best to purge the worried thoughts from her head, Lisbon booted up her computer and got to work.

Later that day, however, she made the monumental mistake of checking her personal email during a lull.

And there in her inbox – somehow miraculously _not_ in her spam folder – was an email from lisbonsecretadmirer, with a subject line of _Merry ninth day of Christmas!_

Lisbon might not have been especially computer literate, but even she knew better than to open an email from an unknown address. So she forwarded the email to Van Pelt, adding a quick note explaining the situation.

An hour later, Van Pelt knocked on the doorframe of her office.

"Hey, come on in," Lisbon said.

"I have some good news and some bad news," Van Pelt said hesitantly.

"Give me the good news first," Lisbon said, a faint frown creasing her forehead.

Entering the office, Van Pelt said, "I ran the email and attachment through five separate antivirus programs; if it's infected, none of the scanners are picking up on it."

"That's the good news?" Lisbon asked.

"Partially," Van Pelt said. "The other good news is that I wasable to trace the IP address of the computer that the email was sent from."

"Well that's good," Lisbon said encouragingly.

"Yeah," Van Pelt sighed.

With a growing sinking feeling, Lisbon said, "…but?"

"_But_," Van Pelt agreed. "I'm sorry, Boss, but whoever sent this knows what he's doing. I _was_ able to trace the IP address, but it's for a computer over at the Sacramento Public Library; tons of people use that thing and there aren't any security cameras inside. …I could investigate some more if you'd like me to?"

"No, no need," Lisbon said, suppressing a sigh. "Thank you, Van Pelt."

"No problem, Boss."

Striding back into her office, Lisbon slipped into her chair and absent-mindedly massaged her temples.

Surely a gift shouldn't be such a cause for stress?

Firmly reminding herself that none of the other presents had been harmful, she hesitantly opened the email.

_A little birdie told me you might like this_, it read. _Enjoy!_ _– Your Secret Admirer_

Praying it wouldn't infect or shut down her computer, Lisbon clicked on the attachment.

When a very familiar song started blasting from her speakers, Lisbon quickly turned her computer's volume off and stared at the video currently on her screen, narrowly restraining herself from squealing with excitement.

This documentary was supposed to show on TV on December 24th… how on _earth_ had her admirer gotten access to a copy?

_The Spice Girls' Story: Viva Forever_, large words on the screen read. And there they were: Ginger, Posh, Scary, Sporty, and Baby, with four backup dancers behind them.

"Boss?" Rigsby called.

"I'll be right there," she called back, reluctantly stopping the video.

She'd have to wait until later tonight to continue watching.

_On the ninth day of Christmas, someone gave to me… nine Spice Girls __dancing_.


	10. The Tenth Day

_Disclaimer: I don't own the Mentalist._

_A/N: Once again, thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed; you wonderful ladies and gents really make my week._

* * *

**Chapter Ten: The Tenth Day**

* * *

_Saturday, December 22, 2012_

Just another day at the office.

Lisbon had watched the Spice Girls documentary twice last night and, assuming she got off work at a reasonable hour, planned to watch it again this evening before meeting up with the poker group.

She was just glad that her team didn't know what she did during her off-hours. She wasn't ashamed of loving the Spice Girls precisely, but she was acutely aware that if the information got out, she'd be in for a lot of ribbing about her musical tastes.

As things stood, however, Jane was the only one who knew about her weakness for the Spice Girls. Assuming he hadn't told anyone else, that was.

Lisbon let out a sigh and tapped her pencil against the desk.

That was the question, wasn't it. _Jane_.

Lisbon wasn't a stupid woman by any stretch of the imagination. And some of the gifts she had gotten were so tailored to her specific tastes that she couldn't help but –

_Rapitty-rap-rap._

"Excuse me?" a dark-skinned woman said quietly, peering around the office door. "I have a delivery for a Teresa Lisbon?"

"That's me," Lisbon said. "Come in."

"Just keep your voice down," the woman said, slowly entering the office, pulling something along behind her. "You don't want to wake them."

"Wake them?" Lisbon repeated, doing her best to keep her voice low despite her sudden misgivings.

"Yeah," the woman said, pointing to the red wooden wagon at her side. "_Them_."

Lisbon rose to her feet to better see into the wagon.

_Oh._

Inside the wagon were ten small, slumbering puppies. Labradors, perhaps?

What were they doing _here_?

"They're adorable," Lisbon murmured, moving closer. "But, uh, are you sure you were supposed to deliver them to a Teresa Lisbon?"

"I'm sure," the woman said with a smile. "Which reminds me, I'm to tell you 'Merry tenth day of Christmas.' Someone's got a secret admirer, hmm?"

Lisbon shrugged awkwardly.

"You only get these little guys for an hour, though, I'm afraid," the woman added, "Then they go back to their mama."

One of the puppies – plump with soft black fur, tiny paws, and floppy ears – moved its head closer to the warmth of Lisbon's hovering hand and nuzzled against it.

Lisbon cautiously patted the dog with her other hand, a smile breaking across her face.

_On the tenth day of Christmas, someone gave to me… ten Labs a-sleeping._


	11. The Eleventh Day

_Disclaimer: I still don't own the Mentalist._

_A/N: I haven't personally encountered the item that Lisbon receives in this chapter. If I've made any mistakes (hi, internet research!) feel free to correct me. Also, the Wikipedia article cited (I know, _such_ a reliable resource) is an actual direct quote._

_As always, my thanks to those of you still reading and reviewing! This fic will (I think) have two more chapters, one for the twelfth day gift and one dealing with Lisbon's reaction to her admirer's identity._

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: The Eleventh Day**

* * *

_Sunday, December 23, 2012_

"See you, Boss," Van Pelt said, giving Lisbon a quick hug. "Have a wonderful Christmas!"

"Thanks, Van Pelt," Lisbon said, awkwardly returning the younger agent's hug. "Enjoy your time off. You deserve it."

Van Pelt beamed.

"Oh, I almost forgot," she added, gesturing to a brown paper bag on her desk. "I bought these for you guys."

"You didn't need to do that," Lisbon murmured.

Smiling, Van Pelt said, "I wanted to. Go on, open it."

Hesitantly, Lisbon opened the bag, and pulled out a bright red plush Santa hat.

"Aren't they great?" Van Pelt asked. "I got one for everyone."

Lisbon smiled weakly, but Rigsby positively beamed.

"Wow, thanks, Grace," he said, leaning over and pulling out a Santa hat for himself. Promptly plopping it on his head, he continued, "I've been meaning to get one of these so I can play Santa for Ben."

"What about the rest of the suit?" Jane asked, his own Santa hat sitting on his curls at a rakish angle. "You can't be Santa without the whole ensemble."

"Just give him a beard and he'll pass," Cho commented, taking his own Santa hat and putting it on his desk.

Rigsby frowned and looked down at his stomach.

"I haven't gotten that fat, have I?" he asked anxiously, poking his stomach. "I mean, I know I've been doing a lot of sitting around in the evenings now that I have Ben, but –"

"He's messing with you, Rigsby," Lisbon said.

Van Pelt nodded in agreement, adding, "You're fine, Wayne."

Rigsby let out a chuckle.

"You got me good, man," he told Cho. "I was really starting to worry."

"Aren't you going to put on your hats?" Van Pelt asked, addressing Lisbon and Cho. "Everyone else is wearing them."

Cho simply stared at her. Van Pelt stared back, unimpressed.

At last, he said, "No."

"I want to save it for Christmas," Lisbon prevaricated. "To, uh, make it more special."

As she spoke, Jane picked up her hat and dropped it down on her head. It was so large, however, that it slid over her eyes and part of her nose.

"C'mon, Lisbon, live a little," he said coaxingly.

Glaring at him, Lisbon shifted the hat so she could see.

"Jane –"

"I really do need to get going," Van Pelt interrupted regretfully.

Giving Jane one last scowl, Lisbon returned her gaze to Van Pelt.

"Have a safe flight," she said.

"Thanks," Van Pelt said. "And again, I hope all of you have a great Christmas!"

With those words, she left the bullpen.

"Well," Lisbon said with a sigh, "Back to work, everyone."

She was just starting to walk towards her office when a low male voice announced, "Can someone tell me where I can find Teresa Lisbon?"

Turning around, Lisbon said, "That's me. How can I help you?"

The man in front of her was just her usual type: tall, dark-haired, and just a little bit scruffy. The turtleneck that he wore was dark green, accentuating the color of his hazel eyes.

"I have a delivery for you," he said, handing her a vase of the strangest flowers she'd ever seen.

With their four white petals and tall, spiky, conical centers, they looked vaguely phallic.

"Uh, thank you," she murmured, fishing in her pockets for a tip and trying not to blush.

"I've got this," Jane said, handing the man a crisp bill, clapping him on the back, and ushering him back towards the elevator.

Lisbon was distantly irked by his high-handed behavior, but was too occupied by looking at the flowers to protest.

Opening the card tied to the vase, she saw what she'd been expecting: _Merry eleventh day of Christmas from your secret admirer_.

But how did the flowers fit into the song?

Frowning faintly, she bent down and sniffed the spicy scent of the blossoms. It was unlike anything she'd ever smelt before – the closest comparison she could make was a strange combination of mint, wild ginger, and eucalyptus.

"Someone's got an admirer," Jane sing-songed, having returned.

Rigsby looked equal parts curious, excited, and guilty, while Cho remained as straight-faced as ever. Having known him for a long time, however, Lisbon could tell by the glint in his eyes that he was amused.

"What of it?" Lisbon asked defensively, heading towards her office with the flowers.

"Nothing," Jane said, following her, hands held out placatingly. "Just saying."

Lisbon put the vase of flowers in a position of pride on her desk.

"There's one thing I don't get," Lisbon admitted to him. "All of the other gifts have been related to that 'Twelve Days of Christmas' song. But I can't figure out what these have to do with anything."

Jane frowned consideringly for a few seconds, then smiled.

"Clever," he said in an almost admiring tone.

"What's clever?" Lisbon asked.

Shaking his head, Jane replied, "That would be _cheating_, Lisbon. This will be so much more meaningful if you discover it on your own."

"Right. _Meaningful_," Lisbon snorted. "This isn't a test, you know."

"Oh very well," Jane said, sighing as though much put-upon. "I'll give you a hint: some people call what you have in your vase Yerba Mansa. Others call it Lizard's Tail. I expect you can use your fine CBI detecting skills to find the connection."

Doing her best not to roll her eyes, Lisbon said, "That's it? That's your big clue?"

"I have faith in your abilities, Lisbon," Jane said glibly.

"Maybe I don't care about knowing anymore," Lisbon said, pulling a file out of her drawer.

Smiling smugly, Jane said, "Oh, you don't mean that. I give you twenty minutes before you break down and try to figure it out again."

Lisbon's fingers tingled with the familiar itch to slap the smirk off her consultant's face.

Correctly reading her facial expression, Jane began to exit her office.

He left her with one last parting shot, however: "Curiosity is a healthy trait, my dear. You shouldn't be afraid to cultivate it."

Over the next half hour, Lisbon tried to work on her endless pile of paperwork, but curiosity itched at her brain and distracted her. She refused to give Jane the satisfaction of being right, however.

At last, she gave in and googled 'Yerba Mansa.' At least, she reassured herself, she'd managed to wait longer than twenty minutes.

Reading the Wikipedia article that had popped up, Lisbon discovered that the 'flowers' were officially called _Anemopsis californica_. She still had no idea how they were related to the song, though. Then she started clicking on links within the article in hopes that something useful would appear.

She had just clicked on 'Saururaceae' (the family to which Yerba Mansa supposedly belonged) when she saw it.

Of course, it all made sense now.

**_Saururaceae_**, the page read, _is a plant family comprising four genera and seven species of __herbaceous __flowering plants__ native to eastern and southern __Asia__ and __North America__. The family has been recognised by most taxonomists, and is sometimes known as the "lizard's-tail family". The __APG II system__ (2003; unchanged from the 1998 __APG system__) assigned it to the order __Piperales__ in the clade __magnoliids__._

She shook her head and smiled.

_On the eleventh day of Christmas, someone gave to me… eleven Piperales._


	12. The Twelfth Day

_Disclaimer: If I owned The Mentalist, I wouldn't be nearly so curious about the upcoming season finale._

_A/N: Can you believe it? Only one chapter left to go! And more to the point, the Mentalist season finale is upon us. Anyone else feel as though the past couple of episodes have been the calm before the storm?_

_My thanks to those of you who have been reading and reviewing; you are the proverbial wind beneath my wings. ;-)_

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: The Twelfth Day**

* * *

_Monday, December 24, 2012_

It was the morning of Christmas Eve, and Lisbon was eager to get home as soon as possible. Tommy and Annie were coming over for Christmas Day and she still hadn't cleaned or decorated her apartment.

Crap. She still had to find that blasted box of Christmas ornaments that had been hiding somewhere in storage for the past few years.

At least she had already had a tree. That was _something_.

Rotating her neck and shoulders, Lisbon sighed as she felt them stretch and pop. She loved Christmas – she'd always loved it – but this would be the first time she'd celebrated it properly in years. Outside of going to Mass, putting out a few scented candles in her apartment, and watching holiday specials on TV while eating Chinese food, she didn't normally do much for Christmas.

But this year things were going to be different. _This_ year, she would be spending it with family.

With a sudden pang, she remembered Jane, her occasional holiday buddy. She'd invited him to join them, but he'd demurred, insisting that it ought to be a "Lisbon family only" event.

She sighed again.

By now, Van Pelt was probably in Iowa with her parents. Though he was close-lipped, she knew that Cho would spend Christmas with his parents as well; his sense of duty was too strong to permit him to do otherwise. As for Rigsby, he'd told her that he planned on spending Christmas with Sarah and Ben; he and Sarah might not be together anymore, but that didn't mean that they couldn't get together to make the holiday special for their son.

But Jane… what would he do? Probably hole up in the attic with that little book of his and obsess over what Red John's next move might be. Hardly a way to spend Christmas.

Suppressing a sigh, she turned back to the latest stack of forms that needed her signature. The sooner she did this, the sooner she'd be able to leave.

It was at that moment that a knock sounded on her office door.

"Come in," she called, not looking up from her paperwork.

"Stop worrying about me," Jane said.

"What?" Lisbon said. "I'm not–"

"No need to lie, my dear," Jane said, setting something down next to her with a clink.

Looking up, she saw that it was a cup of tea. Pear tea.

"Are you stealing my tea again?" she asked.

"Lisbon, I am offended," Jane proclaimed. "Here I bring you a cup of tea to ease your tension and you accuse me of _stealing_."

Lisbon rolled her eyes but took a sip of tea and felt her shoulders relax a fraction more.

"OK, so maybe I am a little bit worried," she admitted. "I can't help it."

"Well I can assure you that there's no need to be," Jane told her.

Shaking her head, Lisbon said, "You always say that and then you go do something that makes me worry even more. It's just – you're family, Jane. And Annie and Tommy would love to see you. In fact, Annie keeps asking after you."

Jane looked pleased and a bit touched despite himself.

"You don't have to join us if you really don't want to, but it would be nice if you'd just pop in for an after-dinner drink or something," Lisbon continued. "Just a few minutes."

A wry smile twisting his lips, Jane said, "You are persistent, woman. Very well. If it will make you feel better, I'll drop by tomorrow evening for half an hour. I can teach Annie some more pick-pocketing tricks."

"You wouldn't dare," Lisbon said, pleased expression at odds with her words.

"Clearly you don't know me, then. There's little I wouldn't dare," Jane sniffed. "Speaking of which…"

He pulled a small package out of his coat pocket and handed it over to her.

"I found this buried under my couch cushions earlier this morning," he said. "I think it's your latest gift from your little admirer."

"How do you know?" Lisbon asked. "Maybe _you_ have a secret admirer and it's _your_ gift."

"I do have admirers," Jane said with smug placidness, "But this is definitely yours, my dear. It's addressed to you."

Sure enough, the package had her name on it.

"Why would my admirer bury it in your couch?" Lisbon asked.

"Don't ask me to fathom the mind of your admirer," Jane said.

"Excuse me, you're a mentalist," Lisbon pointed out. "'Fathoming minds' is what you _do_."

Jane brushed that off with a wave of one hand.

"So, are you going to open it?" he asked.

"Why not," Lisbon muttered, knowing that she'd get no peace until she did.

Carefully, she unwrapped the package and found inside twelve Christmas ornaments: painted tin soldiers with drums.

Well, that solved one problem.

She made to throw away the wrapping paper, but Jane stopped her.

"There's a note, Lisbon," he said, pointing to the depths of the tissue where a corner of paper stuck out.

Not seeing the point – the notes always said more or less the same thing anyway – Lisbon nonetheless retrieved the note and read it.

_Merry twelfth day of Christmas from your secret admirer_, it read. That, however, was where it departed from the usual. _If you want to know who I am, meet me at Mulligan's Bar tonight at 8. I'll be wearing a Santa Hat._

Not wanting Jane to see the note, she slid it into her pocket.

"So?" he asked.

"Same old, same old," she said. "Merry Christmas etc., etc. You're sure this person isn't dangerous?"

"Weeell, I wouldn't say not dangerous," Jane prevaricated. "I'm sure he's quite dangerous when he chooses to be. But I'm certain that he means you no harm."

Lisbon shook her head and said, "OK, I'll take your word on it. Now out! I have work to do."

Humming a suspiciously familiar tune, he left her office.

_On the twelfth day of Christmas, someone gave to me… twelve soldiers drumming._

_-–- -–- -–- -–- -–-_

It was 7:50 PM and Lisbon had just arrived at Mulligan's.

Now that the moment of truth was upon her, she wasn't sure that she wanted to know her admirer's identity. If her suspicions were correct, things were about to get very complicated very quickly. Jane specialized in complicated, after all. And messy. Oh God. Why had she decided to come here again?

She still wasn't sure how she was going to respond if her admirer was Jane. She knew what she ought to do, of course: explain that she was flattered, then firmly but politely remind him of CBI regulations. But things rarely went as they ought around Patrick Jane.

Lisbon growled under her breath. It was just like Jane to get her all worked up over a simple meeting.

Her feelings towards Jane were already tangled. Why did he have to go and make things worse?

Then again, maybe he wasn't. After all, Jane was might not be as wrapped up in Angela's memory as he used to be, but that didn't mean that he was interested in _her_. And regardless of his level of interest, it was unlikely that he'd do anything to increase the size of the target on her back.

…this was stupid. She was probably working herself up over nothing. Her admirer might not even _be_ Jane.

Setting her shoulders and giving her hair one last nervous pat, she stepped into the bar and looked around. And there, sitting on a barstool with the world's most garish Santa hat on his head was –

"Cho?"


	13. The Big Reveal

_Disclaimer: I still don't own the Mentalist._

_A/N: Thank you all so much both for sticking with this story through its slow updates and for leaving such encouraging reviews! __I hope that you enjoy (and are perhaps a little surprised by) the final installment._

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: The Big Reveal**

* * *

_(Still) Monday, December 24, 2012_

Lisbon had known Cho for years. They had a good working relationship and a close friendship of sorts. But she'd never once thought that…

Maybe there was some mistake. Then again, she had a hard time imagining Cho willingly donning a Santa hat – let alone in public – without a _very_ good reason.

"Cho?" she repeated, walking over to him. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey, Boss," he said, glancing up from his soda and laying his book down.

"Look," she began hesitantly, "I –"

Suddenly two other very familiar men wearing Santa hats converged on her, one holding a small baby.

"Rigsby? Jane? What's going on here?"

"Merry Christmas, Lisbon," Jane said, smiling widely. "Are you surprised by your admirer's identity?"

"I… don't understand," she admitted reluctantly.

"It was Cho's idea originally," Rigsby said, bouncing Ben.

"Don't blame me," Cho said.

"No need to be modest, man," Rigsby said. "Cho made a comment one day that you deserved to be appreciated more. Grace was the one who came up with the secret admirer thing – oh, and she wanted me to tell you that she's sorry she couldn't be here, by the way. Jane set it in motion and drew up a schedule of who got what day and snuck most of the presents into your office."

"Rigsby is downplaying his contribution," Jane said. "He's the one who thought up the idea of mailing you some of the gifts with the return address as your office or apartment."

Rigsby shrugged, cheeks pinking ever-so-slightly.

"We know that we don't show it enough," Jane continued, "But we all appreciate and admire you, Lisbon."

"You're a good boss," Rigsby said.

"A damn good agent," Cho agreed.

"An incredible friend," Jane finished.

To her horror, Lisbon felt her eyes watering.

No one had ever done anything so sweet for her.

"I –" she stammered. "Oh, come here, all of you."

And with that, she roughly drew the three men into an awkward group hug.

"_Thank you_," she added quietly.

"No, Lisbon, thank _you_," Jane said.

And although the words were unbelievably cheesy, his face was earnest.

Rigsby looked a bit teary-eyed himself.

"That's beautiful, man," he murmured.

Cho let out a snort.

"'No, thank _you_?'" he quoted flatly. "Seriously?"

"I will have you know that Christmas is a time for cheesiness," Jane said with faux-primness. A grin creeping across his face, he added in a loud voice, "It's a Christmas miracle, ladies and gentleman! Kimball Cho is laughing!"

Cho gave Jane a look of disapproval, but the amusement still dancing in his eyes gave lie to his scowl.

Lisbon shook her head as she watched her three boys begin to bicker.

It wasn't Christmas yet, but she had already received a gift beyond her wildest dreams.

-–- -–- -–- -–- -–-

Lisbon's Twelve Days of Christmas Sing-Along:

_On the first day of Christmas, SCU gave to me… a cartridge in a box of pear tea._

_On the second day of Christmas, SCU gave to me… two turtles and two 'Doves,' and a cartridge in a box of pear tea._

_On the third day of Christmas, SCU gave to me… __Trois Oiseaux hen__, two turtles and two 'Doves,' and a cartridge in a box of pear tea._

_On the fourth day of Christmas, SCU gave to me… four singing Byrds, __Trois Oiseaux hen__, two turtles and two 'Doves,' and a cartridge in a box of pear tea._

_On the fifth day of Christmas, SCU gave to me… five pineapple rings! Four singing Byrds, __Trois Oiseaux __hen, two turtles and two 'Doves,' and a cartridge in a box of pear tea._

_On the sixth day of Christmas, SCU gave to me… six goose matryoshkas, five pineapple rings! Four singing Byrds, __Trois Oiseaux __hen, two turtles and two 'Doves,' and a cartridge in a box of pear tea._

_On the seventh day of Christmas, SCU gave to me… seven Swan's Neck vodkas, six goose matryoshkas, five pineapple rings! Four singing Byrds, __Trois Oiseaux __hen, two turtles and two 'Doves,' and a cartridge in a box of pear tea._

_On the eighth day of Christmas, SCU gave to me… eight Maiden Milk Bars, seven Swan's Neck vodkas, six goose matryoshkas, five pineapple rings! Four singing Byrds, __Trois Oiseaux __hen, two turtles and two 'Doves,' and a cartridge in a box of pear tea._

_On the ninth day of Christmas, SCU gave to me… nine Spice Girls dancing, eight Maiden Milk Bars, seven Swan's Neck vodkas, six goose matryoshkas, five pineapple rings! Four singing Byrds, __Trois Oiseaux __hen, two turtles and two 'Doves,' and a cartridge in a box of pear tea._

_On the tenth day of Christmas, SCU gave to me… ten Labs a-sleeping, nine Spice Girls dancing, eight Maiden Milk Bars, seven Swan's Neck vodkas, six goose matryoshkas, five pineapple rings! Four singing Byrds, __Trois Oiseaux __hen, two turtles and two 'Doves,' and a cartridge in a box of pear tea._

_On the eleventh day of Christmas, SCU gave to me… eleven Piperales, ten Labs a-sleeping, nine Spice Girls dancing, eight Maiden Milk Bars, seven Swan's Neck vodkas, six goose matryoshkas, five pineapple rings! Four singing Byrds, __Trois Oiseaux __hen, two turtles and two 'Doves,' and a cartridge in a box of pear tea._

_On the twelfth day of Christmas, SCU gave to me… twelve soldiers drumming, eleven Piperales, ten Labs a-sleeping, nine Spice Girls dancing, eight Maiden Milk Bars, seven Swan's Neck vodkas, six goose matryoshkas, five pineapple rings! Four singing Byrds, __Trois Oiseaux __hen, two turtles and two 'Doves,' and a cartridge in a box of pear tea!_

* * *

_A/N the second: I hope none of you feel too cheated by the lack of Jane/Lisbon (or Cho/Lisbon, for that matter); this was the ending that I'd always planned for this fic. But hopefully I've left things open-ended enough that you can either read the J/L dynamic as a proto-romance or simply as a close friendship._


End file.
